Stronger
by Molotov
Summary: AU diverging from late Season 2. Snapshots in the life of Chuck Bartowski, freed from a life he never asked for but at what cost?
1. Gifts

Disclaimer: I don't own _Chuck_ or any other name brands potentially listed in the work of fiction below.

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><p>"Bartowski!"<p>

The book in Chuck's hands fell to the floor with a thunk, as he lurched up from his bed with a start.

Taking a moment to recover, he admonished his new guest. "Thanks for that, Casey. I hadn't filled my 'scare the crap out of me' quota for the day yet. I didn't even hear you come in."

John Casey grunted amusedly. "Spy," he said simply.

Chuck smiled ruefully and shrugged. "What brings you by?" he asked.

Casey stepped into Chuck's bedroom, retrieving the fallen book. Even after all the years of knowing Bartowski, he still hated to do much talking. Occupying his hands helped some.

"Was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by. See if you were keeping yourself out of trouble. See if you still knew how to feed yourself and tie your shoes," he teased.

Chuck grinned. In the old days, that kind of needling would usually elicit snark in response. But that was a long time ago, and John Casey was all bark and no bite when it came to Chuck Bartowski now. They'd both done a lot of growing in the last few years.

"You mean other than defusing bombs, flying helicopters, and jumping off of a perfectly good building?" He grinned. "Nah, it's been pretty calm around here. But then, I'm sure you knew that already."

Casey grunted again. "And your handler? He treatin' you okay?"

Chuck nodded in affirmation. Agent William 'Don't Call Me Bill' Conti was a good handler, as far as Chuck's limited experience with handlers could tell him. More personable and compassionate than any of them, if he was honest, but he still kept his Big Two on pedestals. Being Chuck Bartowski's handler was an easy gig these days - an in-person meeting once a week, GPS tracker watch, but that was about it. Nobody expected much trouble from an ex-asset in forced retirement.

"Had a couple flashes last month. Called them in, like I'm 'sposed to." Chuck paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. "That reminds me, I should ask him if anything came from them at our next appointment."

Casey blanched at the casualness of Chuck's words, cringing internally over what he was going to say next.

"And the physical therapy? How's that coming along?"

"Pretty good," Chuck replied. "I'm fairly self-sufficient these days. I've even been working out!" He shook his head at such a notion. "Will and I have figured out a couple exercises I can do on my own safely. Other than receiving my blessing to marry Ellie I haven't seen the Captain become so excited than when I asked if I could use some of his gym equipment." Chuck smiled at the memory.

That got a genuine chuckle out of the gruff agent. "How're he and Ellie doing? Are you Uncle Chuck yet?"

The younger man shook his head no. Chuck knew that his needing full-time care these last fourteen months had put a damper on their plans to start a family. He said as much to Ellie once, and she had vehemently denied it. Chuck never brought it up again, but couldn't help but feel guilty that he was still being a burden on his sister.

Wanting to steer the conversation back to lighter fare, Chuck asked, "Can you stay for dinner? Ellie would be thrilled to get to see you again."

Casey sighed. "Sorry Bartowski. I've got to catch a plane back to D.C. in an hour. I only stopped by to bring you something."

He set Chuck's book on the nightstand by his bed and stepped back into the hallway, retrieving the bag he'd carefully set down before spooking his former asset.

It was a small, faded green laundry bag with USMC stenciled on the side. Casey loosened the strings and pulled out a flat, red rectangular box the length of his hand. He tossed the empty sack next to Chuck's book on the nightstand and held the small box in front of him reverently.

"What is it?" Chuck asked, one part cautious, one part excited.

"Hold still," Casey replied, flipping open the top of the box. "Wouldn't want to stick you by accident."

"S-stick me?"

Casey let out another amused grunt as he leaned forward and delicately pinned a medal to Chuck's shirt.

"What is this?" Chuck asked as he brought his hand up to touch his decoration. He cupped it in his palm and ran his thumb across the surface. It small and light, a curved shape with elevated texture on the front and back. He repeated his query.

"In recognition for injuries received while in service to the United States of America, it has been deemed fit to award you, Charles Bartowski, with this Purple Heart," Major John Casey said proudly.

Chuck leaned backwards, braced by one arm as the other still held the award, dumbfounded. His mind was aghast with questions. "Purple Heart? What? Why? Who?" he stuttered.

His former handler laughed. "Hold on, hold on," he said. "Before you have an aneurysm, let me explain. This is unofficial because officially, you don't exist to the government except as any other chump on the street. Our mission reports are buried under so many levels of clearance, it'd take a strip mining operation to dig deep enough for it."

That did little to clear up Chuck's confusion. Before he could reply, Casey held up a hand to forestall him, then quickly dropped it back to his side. "Stop and think about this for a second. The nature of your," he paused, searching for the right word, "_recruitment_ was outside the typical channels."

Chuck snorted at his phrasing but let him continue.

"You can count on one hand the people who know the full extent of your service to this country. Only Beckman and Graham have any pull with the suits in Washington, and since Graham is dead, the General has decided to shut the case regarding you for good."

"Beckman knows if you really wanted to, you could lawyer up and go after the CIA and NSA for what happened-wait," he interjected upon seeing Chuck about to speak. "_I _know you wouldn't do that. Told the General as much myself. I think she mostly believes it, but you don't become head of an intelligence organization by trusting civilians working in retail."

The corner of Chuck's mouth quirked into a smile. He acknowledged that the Casey standing before him was vastly different from the one who wanted to shoot him on a rooftop all those years ago. To an outsider, it would look like Casey was condescending to Chuck, but he knew better. The agent was still as gruff as ever, but there was no anger or maliciousness in his tone anymore.

"She didn't leave you to entirely twist in the wind, though. Where do you think your settlement came from?"

Chuck leaned forward again. "I thought it came from the Buy More," he questioned.

Casey tsked him. "I doubt you bothered to read the toilet paper those clowns called their 'employee handbook' when you crawled into that dump for the first time. Check the fine print. They conveniently have a clause exempting them from liability in the event something like what happened to you happens to you."

"WHAT!" Chuck surged to his feet and Casey shot a hand out to grasp his shoulder, steadying him.

"Sit down Bartowski," he ordered. Casey waited for him to comply before continuing.

"They didn't give you any benefits at that job, did they? Medical? Dental?" Chuck shook his head. "Exactly. A delivery guy gets held up and all Pizza Hut cares about is if their brand takes a hit. Buy More's no different."

"This is where Beckman comes in. Like I said, she didn't just leave you to rot. She's a General first – has to be, the job demands it. But she's still a person, and hell, you prevented World War III, Bartowski. She made a couple calls and whaddya know, the Buy More suddenly found themselves with a windfall from an accounting error, and were persuaded to help a dedicated employee in his time of need. You understand now?"

Tension he didn't know he had seeped from Chuck's body. In his darker moments, he cursed Beckman for so many things. The missions, the danger, referring to him as 'the asset' or 'the Intersect' and never his name. Taking Sarah away from-no. He forced himself to stop there. He'd broken down in front of Casey enough times, wallowed in self-pity enough times, that he wouldn't anymore.

So he said the only coherent thought that came to him.

"Wow."

Chuck Bartowski would never consider himself Diane Beckman's biggest fan, not after what she did, but... He was floored. The settlement paid the hospital bills, the therapy sessions, adapting the apartment to be more handicap accessible. They even paid off Ellie's student loans, citing her new role as Chuck's primary caretaker. But it made sense how it lined right up with Chuck's cover story with Agent Conti. His check-ins were under the guise of continued physical therapy sessions, and while some of that actually did occur every now and then, it was primarily a way for he and Chuck to touch base.

"Was this her idea too?" Chuck asked, lightly tugging at the medal pinned to his shirt. "Last I checked, I was never in the Army."

"No Bartowski," Casey said quietly. "That's from me."

"Hm. I don't recall ever seeing your stash of Purple Hearts in your apartment. Just lots of Hot Pockets and Ronald Reagan." Chuck grinned at his own quip and abruptly sat up straight.

"Wait-wait-wait-wait," he said, tilting his head upwards. "This is _yours_ yours?"

"Panama," the spy said. "Christmas, 1989."

"Casey..." Chuck reached up and started fumbling with the clasp. "I can't take this. This belongs to you."

He stopped when he felt Casey's larger, calloused hand envelop his.

"Bartowski, stop."

He pulled his hand back and watched drop both of his to his lap. The younger man looked at him said simply, "Why?"

Casey took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled from his mouth. "You're a soldier, Bartowski, and I can't think of anyone I'm prouder to have served with. When a soldier is wounded in the line of duty, it's customary that he receive that award."

"But Casey, I wasn't actually-"

"Semantics," he said dismissively. "But if it makes you feel better, it's not official. I just... We did good work, the three of us. And now that it's over, and things being the way they are, I wanted to give you something you could remember us by. Something you could use to remind yourself of what you did." His voice shook briefly with emotion. "All the bad guys we put away, all the people we saved? You'll never get the credit you deserve. No one will ever know what you did, but _I _know. And I want you to know I'm damn proud of you."

Crying wasn't an alien concept to Chuck Bartowski, but he couldn't remember the last time he cried not out of pain or sadness or pity or guilt, but out of honest-to-goodness love. He sniffed and awkwardly wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve and gulped, forcing himself to look at Casey. Not trusting himself to not completely break down, Chuck was able to squeak out a "thank you."

Silence passed between the two men before the discomfort became too much for Casey. "So that's what I came by for," he said, regaining control over the situation. "I've got a flight to catch. Somebody's got to save the world while you sit at home reading." He rapped a knuckle on the cover of the book he put on the nightstand.

"There's your book, by the way."

Chuck broke into a grin. "Thanks Casey. You're a good friend."

"Yeah, yeah, Bartowski. You know my stance on the lady feelings."

Chuck's grin grew even larger. It was good to know some things truly never changed.

He got to his feet and stuck out his left hand. Casey grasped Chuck's hand with his right and collected his medal case and bag. "Say hi to Ellie and Devon for me," he said. "Take care of yourself Bartowski. Stay strong."

"Always." Their hands parted and Chuck nodded, smiling still. "Thank you Casey."

The agent turned smartly on his heel and had one foot out the door when Chuck spoke again.

"Hey Casey," he called out tentatively. The smile was gone and his face had grown solemn. He licked his lips nervously and wrung his hands together. "If you... If you see her...will you tell her I say 'hey'?"

The corner of Casey's mouth raised in a smirk. Every time they parted company, without fail, Chuck would say that. And without fail, Casey would reply, "You know I will."

_**XXXXX**_

Two hours later, Eleanor Woodcomb née Bartowski returned home to the apartment she shared with her husband and brother after finishing her shift at the hospital. Closing the door behind her and heading into the kitchen the doctor called out with a "Chuck! I'm home!"

A muffled "Hey sis" drifted out to her.

After putting away the perishables and visiting her bedroom to change out of her scrubs, she ventured back down the hall to her brother's room and poked her head in. "Hey goober," she announced.

She found Chuck in the same position Casey had earlier, flat on his back in bed. The book was still on the nightstand where the agent left it, and instead, Chuck's face was pointed at the ceiling, his fingers tracing idly over his medal.

Moving inside the room, she plopped down on the side of the bed and twisted her head back to look at her brother. "Whatcha up to?"

"Just thinking," Chuck replied, his voice heavy with emotion.

"Scoot over," she said, stretching out onto her side facing Chuck when he complied. Propping her head up in her hand, she asked, "What's that?"

"Casey came by earlier and gave it to me."

"John visited?" she said excitedly. Casey would always hold a special place in Ellie's heart for saving her brother's life that day, and even though he didn't live across from them any longer, she was overjoyed he kept in periodic touch.

Chuck smiled and turned to face his sister. "Yes, and before you ask, I invited him to stay for dinner but he couldn't stay long." After the incident, and Chuck had stabilized, it was no longer necessary for the government to keep Casey in Burbank and he was recalled back to D.C. Because Ellie had formed such an affection for the spy, he and Chuck concocted a cover story to explain his leaving, while accounting for his obvious military affiliation and to keep open the possibilities for random visits. He was a Marine Reservist and had been called back into active duty. Ellie was told he was had been ordered to South Carolina, to be a drill instructor at Parris Island.

"He had a long enough layover before his connecting flight to San Diego that he could pop in quick. He said, and I quote," dropping into a poor imitation of his former handler's gruff voice, "'Ellie's cooking and Camp Pendleton are the only redeeming qualities of that hippie dippie state you live in, Bartowski.'"

Ellie rolled her eyes and slapped Chuck's shoulder with her free hand. "Don't tease. He's a good man."

Chuck sobered and nodded. "He is." He carefully unclasped the medal from his shirt and handed it to his sister. "He gave me that."

The doctor gasped. "Chuck, do you know what this is?"

"A Purple Heart. Maybe he thought me keeping him from killing everyone at the Buy More qualified as hazardous work and that I earned this," he joked. He paused before saying, "I think it was his, you know?"

Ellie held it with a look of wonder, eyes filled with tears. Flipping it over, she read aloud the inscription. "'For Military Merit, John Casey.' Chuck, this... This is something special."

"I know," Chuck said hoarsely.

"A good man," Ellie repeated, passing the medal back into Chuck's hand.

He pushed it back into her hand. "Describe it to me," he said.

Ellie smiled sadly at her brother before turning her focus onto the object.

"The ribbon is a purple, obviously, with white stripes along both sides. The medal is a heart made of gold, with a smaller heart of purple inside it." Chuck's face beamed with pride and wonder as he listened to Ellie's description. "A gold bust of George Washington is in the center. You should see the way it shines when the sunlight hits it. It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Chuck whispered as she pinned it back to his shirt.

There was probably a metaphor to be found in there, the gruff co-worker/neighbor who hardly spoke two words to anyone if he could help it, giving so personal and special a gift to her brother. The man who saved her brother.

Ellie shifted up into a sitting position, brushing a stray lock of hair from Chuck's forehead and placed a kiss in the middle of it.

"Devon's pulling a double tonight so it's just you and me for dinner. How's pizza sound?"

"Sounds good," Chuck said. He had resumed running his thumb over the Purple Heart. "My usual, if that's okay."

"One vegetarian, no olives for Mr. Bartowski, coming up!" She slid off the bed and started for the door. "I'm gonna go order it and then I'll bring you to the couch and you can keep me company and we'll eat. How's that sound?"

"Great," her brother replied. "And you can tell me all about your day."

"I wouldn't miss it, baby brother."

Ellie walked back into the kitchen, grabbed the menu off the fridge and placed the order. That done, she then poured a glass of wine, and swallowed it in two quick gulps.

After Chuck lost his eyesight in the 'incident', as he referred to it, he constantly pressed her or Devon or Morgan to describe to him in great detail the most mundane of their activities. Work, grocery shopping, a trip to the bank, Chuck ate them all up.

On the really good days, one of them would take Chuck with them, acting as if they were his tour guide. He didn't venture out often, and never without sunglasses. She tried to encourage him to go out more often, despite the seizures he would occasionally experience, but progress was progress.

It was a big enough step that he felt safe enough not wearing the sunglasses at home, around her and Devon. The moment he had healed physically enough to touch his face, Chuck was horrified at the scar tissue he felt where his eyes were supposed to be. He had begged and pleaded for someone to tell him what it looked like; the doctors were too clinical and detached, Ellie and Devon and Morgan and the Buy More crew were too upset or worried about upsetting Chuck. Even Casey, ever the straight shooter, didn't dare say anything too graphic. So with only what his fingertips could tell him, his imagination filled in the blanks and he assumed the worst.

Blessed by their proximity to Hollywood, Ellie and Devon were able to convince some med school buddies into a discounted rate for a pair plastic surgery procedures, cleaning up as much of the lingering damage as possible. There had been talk of a complete facial reconstruction, but the settlement from the Buy More couldn't cover such an undertaking, even if Chuck had the desire for it.

Thanks to the cosmetic touch ups, and a good dose of time and acclimation, Ellie's stomach no longer roiled at the sight of his face as it had in the beginning, but she acquiesced to his continued desire for shades.

On the condition that he stop walking around the house singing that stupid Corey Hart song. She nearly threw a shoe at Morgan when she learned he had been the one unleash that terror on her family.

She sighed and leaned against the sink. Things weren't great, but they were getting better. Her poor brother was healing from another of life's heartbreaks with a courage that made her optimistic for his future. Today would go a long way toward making a difference for Chuck.

Her mind touched back onto something she'd heard John say to Chuck once, who replied as if it were something they always said to each other.

"Stay strong," Casey had said.

"Always," Chuck replied.

Ellie could do that. She allowed herself a selfish moment, and it was time to continue going forward. For Chuck, she could be strong and help him to become strong again.

"Thank you John Casey," she whispered as she made her way back to her brother's room.

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: first off, many thanks to **Zerectica** for editing and helping me make this presentable.

Last week marked my one year anniversary of being a Chuck fan. In three weeks, it'll mark one year since I started reading Chuck fanfiction. Despite my voracious appetite for Chuck stories, I didn't feel compelled to write one until recently when I finally had a story I wanted to tell.

Full disclosure: If I chose to write more in this setting, it will likely be in a non-linear format, akin to **Steampunk Chuckster**'s "Chuck Versus the Con Game" and **malamoo**'s "Chuck vs the Then and Now" (only nowhere near as good as theirs). I have some of his world mapped out in my head – what happened to Chuck, what happened to Sarah, and where I'd like to see this story going forward.

So hey. I hope you enjoyed reading this. I sure as hell enjoyed writing it.


	2. Nigerian Prince

Disclaimer: I don't own _Chuck_ or any other name/branded item listed in the story below.

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><p>"You can't be serious."<p>

"As a heart attack."

"No!"

"What?! Come on! He needs this."

"Absolutely not Morgan," Ellie fumed. "I'm not going to let you drag my brother to a strip club!"

Morgan sighed. "Come on, Ellie. Our boy could really use a pick-me-up, don'tcha think?" He turned to Devon, who was seated on the couch next to his wife. "O Captain, my Captain. You know where I'm coming from here?"

"Whoa bro," Devon said, holding his hands out in front of him. "I'm all for cheering up the Chuckster, but you can't expect me to side against my lady here."

"Smart man," Ellie replied, patting her husband's knee. "If you and those idiots from the Buy More want to waste your money, have at it. But Chuck isn't going!"

"Ellieeeee," Morgan whined. "He's cooped up in this house all day. He's blind, not dead. Let him live a little."

"And I suppose letting a naked woman with daddy issues and a drug habit grind on his lap is your idea of letting him 'live a little'?" Eyebrow cocked, Eleanor Bartowski hit the little bearded man with her frostiest of stares.

Morgan let out another groan. "You don't know that! They could be fine, respectable women just lookin' to pay their way through college."

Ellie couldn't hold back her snort.

"Sure, Morgan. If you want to believe that, I can always forward you this e-mail I got from a Nigerian prince. He's in a real bind," she said with mock solemnity. "He's got these millions he just has to get rid of and wouldn't you know it? He picked me to give it all to!"

Devon boomed out a laugh. "Nice one babe," he said, leaning in to plant a kiss on the side of her head.

Morgan shook his head, face scrunched as if he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Low blow, Mrs. Woodcomb," he admonished.

Ellie's eyebrows shot up and down in her own imitation of her brother's more (in)famous Eyebrow Dance, full of delight at her own wit.

Shoulders sagging in defeat, Morgan admitted his defeat. "Fiiiiine," he moaned, eyes pinned to the floor. "Just want to do something good for a buddy, but no..." he muttered. When he finally looked back up, vulnerability shone in his eyes. The good humor that had bounced around the room only moments before was suddenly gone without a trace.

"I just don't know what to do sometimes, y'know?" He glanced at both doctors, whose expressions had quickly sobered. "I know this is a stupid idea, and immature, but maybe that's what he needs. I know I do. Just some good, dumb fun with my best friend." He kicked at the carpet in frustration. "It just...it sucks. It sucks really bad. We've had hard times, sure. Your guys' parents leaving, the Stanford mess, Sarah... Yes, things are better now than they were six months ago. I know that. But a broken heart is one thing. This?" Pointing to his face, he drew a circle in the air around it. "This is for life. And I'm...I'm really having a hard time dusting myself off and getting back on the pony after this one."

"Oh sweetie..." Ellie stood up from the couch and embraced the smaller man.

Everyone knew of the historic (and totally one-sided) animosity that existed between Ellie Bartowski-Woodcomb and Morgan Grimes, but at this moment it was nonexistent. In a lifetime of being let down by those he loved, only Ellie had Morgan beat in tenure when it came to sticking by Chuck. For all of the things about Morgan that Ellie found obnoxious, she couldn't deny he was loyal to her brother.

The bearded man's body began to shake with sobs and he clung tighter to his best friend's sister, two souls sharing no commonality except for shared dedication to another.

The stillness of the apartment broke when a door opened and feet could be heard shuffling down the hall. Ellie and Morgan broke apart and Devon stood to join them.

"Chuck, my man," he called out. "Que pasa, Mufasa?"

"Hey Captain," Chuck grinned, stepping out into the open area of the apartment while keeping a hand anchored to the wall. He wore a faded t-shirt, baggy sweatpants, sunglasses, and his hair was an absolute mess. "As if it could have been anyone else with a laugh like that. I woke up thinking it was an earthquake!" Tilting his head slightly, he probed, "I thought I heard people talking?"

Hastily wiping his eyes, as if it made a difference, Morgan was instantly buoyed by the presence of his best friend. "Hey-hey buddy," he said, clearing his throat. "I came by to see you but you were taking a nap so I've been chatting with the lovely Mr. and Mrs. Woodcomb here."

Well-versed in the art of putting on a brave face in front of her brother, Ellie teased, "Nice of you to join us, Sleeping Beauty."

"Oh if only me age, 10 through 25 could see this now, my sister and best friend willingly talking to each other," Chuck grinned.

"Stranger things have happened," Ellie replied, glancing at Morgan and Devon with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"So I didn't check the time when I came out here and I have no idea how long I was out. Is it time for dinner yet?"

"Oh, is that how it is?" Ellie said as she walked over to her brother. "You deign us with your presence only when you're ready to eat?" She stood next to Chuck and slid an arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.

He didn't flinch, for which Ellie was still eternally grateful. In the beginning, after the incident, Chuck had behaved like a frightened animal, recoiling at the slightest touch. It wasn't long before everyone at the hospital, staff and visitor alike, took to announcing their presence when they entered his room. The doctors and nurses would inform Chuck beforehand any time physical contact was required, and everyone else had taken to asking.

As with all things, time made it easier going. While Chuck still appreciated when anyone who entered the room with him announced their presence (or when he entered theirs), he was becoming more receptive to random physical contact. This was especially true of those from his 'inner circle' - a term Morgan coined to describe himself, Devon, and Ellie. She'd never admit it to his face, but Ellie sometimes found herself using the term despite her attempts otherwise, a fact she knew would please Morgan endlessly.

"I swear," Ellie teased, "that's all you ever say to me anymore." She poked her brother in the tummy with her free hand, causing him to wiggle in her embrace. "I don't know where you put it all."

"I'm a growing boy," Chuck said proudly. He stretched his long arm around Ellie's shoulder and flicked her ear. "Boop."

"Goofball," Ellie said fondly. She extracted herself from around Chuck's waist and planted her hands on her hips. "Well since you were so kind as to grace us with your presence," she drawled, "Why don't you tell me what you'd like, Mr. VIP?"

"VIC," Morgan interjected.

"V-I-what?" Devon asked.

"VIC. Very. Important. Chuck."

"Well put, little buddy," Chuck beamed.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You want me to cook, should we order something, or you feeling dangerous and want to go out?" There was always a risk that proposing a visit outside would scare Chuck and he'd shrink back into himself, so Ellie was careful not to play that card too often. Things had been good lately, so she had hope...

"Go outside, eh?" Chuck stood up to his full and impressive height. "Well it's a good thing that danger's my middle name," he said, pronouncing the last four words in an abysmal British accent.

Morgan groaned loudly. "Oh dude, I thought we agreed that Austin Powers was in the same burlap sack as Jar Jar Binks, _Highlander 2_, Aqua's _Barbie Girl_, and several large rocks at the bottom of one of the Great Lakes."

"Erie, wasn't it? Or maybe Huron. I forget."

Captain Awesome shared a look with his wife, attempting to silently convey the message of, "If we don't stop them now, we never will." Much to his relief, Ellie nodded knowingly at him.

"Okay Tweedle Dum," she said, setting a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Go get dressed and we'll go to In-N-Out Burger. If you make it snappy, I'll even let Tweedle Dumber come with us."

"Oooh," he mused. "Double double, here we come." With a practiced step, Chuck navigated himself quickly back into his room. Before Devon could finish suggesting Ellie give her brother a hand, Chuck shot back out of his room and to the spot he'd previously occupied, adequately dressed and thoroughly out of breath. He was in the same faded t-shirt, but had replaced the sweats with jeans, put on a pair of his trademark Converse All-Stars, swapped out one set of sunglasses for what he called his 'man about town shades' (a pair of beaten up Aviators given to him by John Casey), and his collapsible cane looped around his right wrist.

"Ready!" he announced like a proud child.

Devon was first out the door, path-finding for Chuck who was right behind him, cane clacking across the concrete. Before he could follow, Morgan found his arm being held in Ellie's '_smooth yet surprisingly strong,'_ Morgan quickly thought, grip.

His attention grabbed, she said quietly to him, "OK. He can go."

Morgan looked back with a puzzled expression, to which Ellie responded with a complicated set of facial gestures, including but not limited to eye rolls, subtle sideways head nods, and muttered __you know__'s and __that thing__'s.

The proverbial light bulb went off in Morgan's head. "Ohhh... He can _gooooo_..." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully and said, "I got ya."

He froze abruptly. "Wait a second. Why the change of heart? What happened to all that talk about drug habits and grinding and body glitter?"

"Morgan, I never said anything about any body glitter..."

"Don't avoid the question, Doctor Bartowski."

Ellie sighed in exasperation. "I wasn't being entirely fair earlier, to you or your hypothetical...'dancers.' I mean, I'm the poster child for daddy issues. Who am I to judge? And the feminist in me was annoyed I threw those girls under the bus just to make a joke. Sure, some of them are basket cases, but I'm sure there's plenty who are just—and I'm rambling."

She stepped out of the apartment and Morgan followed, pulling the door shut behind him. Digging through her purse for the keys, she glanced up at her brother's best friend. "If you're going to insist on dragging Chuck into this harebrained idea you have, just make sure to take care of him, okay?"

Morgan grinned, vibrating with excitement. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, Ellie! I promise, I'll take care of our boy. He's gonna have a blast, it'll be just like the old days! Oh man, I gotta go tell him." The bearded man shot off like a rocket leaving a bemused Ellie in his wake.

"Ah ha!" she whispered victoriously, finally locating her quarry at the bottom of the purse. As she slid the apartment key into the deadbolt and turned her wrist, a distant voice beyond the courtyard yelled, "She said _WHAT_!"

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: I'd like to start again by thanking **Zerectica** for helping me via fixes and recommendations. This story is that much better thanks to you.

And secondly, I'd like to thank everyone who read the initial chapter, and extra thanks to everyone who left a review. You lot, you're good people.

So I actually wrote more. And this is what this story is - snapshots of moments of the world I'm playing in. I'll get around to explaining some of the big mysteries in some of them, or some will be just character-driven, like this. I hope you enjoy reading it - I sure enjoyed writing it.


	3. The Swiss Miss

Disclaimer: I don't own _Chuck _or any other name brands that may be listed below.

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><p>Sometimes the movies got it right, and the life of a spy was full of action and excitement, with beautiful women and dangerous men, in luxurious and exotic locales.<p>

And sometimes you had to fly coach.

John Casey was en route to Switzerland, to the U.S. Embassy in Bern, via Zurich.

He was also squeezed into the middle seat, in the back by the lavatory.

Because sometimes a spy didn't have access to a private plane. And sometimes a spy couldn't piggyback on a military flight. Because sometimes the assholes in Operations forced men-too-big into seats-too-small on a transport full of civilians for eight hours.

_ James Bond is full of shit_, Casey thought grumpily.

**XXXX**

Switzerland was a beautiful country, the veteran spy had to admit. Beautiful and clean with great skiing.

These details were offset by Casey's distaste for their history of neutrality. The career soldier could not comprehend how a nation could sit at the foot of two World Wars and not participate. It was disgusting.

It was just under an hour by train from Zurich to Bern and Casey used this time to study the mission dossier. The lack of personal space on the flight prevented him from already studying the briefing and now he was on a time crunch. Paying the upgrade for the 1st class business lounge, the agent was able to plan in privacy and peace.

It was a type of mission John Casey had performed countless times in his career – a fetch. A fetch was simple; make contact with X person on the ground, take over possession of Y, and return it securely to Washington. It was as basic as ops went, but an agent could still get dead real fast when they didn't take even the most mundane assignments seriously.

And not for the first time since being briefed did Casey wonder why this mission had been assigned to him. General Beckman was smarter than most gave her credit for, an essential skill for someone in her position, especially a woman, so the spy couldn't help but wonder what her motives were. She knew the Burbank assignment had changed Casey, and despite feeling like he had failed when Operation Bartowski was terminated, he felt more fulfillment than he had in the years running up to it.

Despite being the home of the U.S. Embassy in the country, Bern was a backwater compared to Zurich and Geneva. Either this mission was bigger than he realized, or he was still being treated with kid gloves.

It was just past noon local time when Casey disembarked at the station in Bern, catching a taxi to the hotel that had been set up ahead of time for him. There he found the mission loadout already waiting, including building plans, burner phone, a tuxedo, and most pleasantly, a weapon. Flying commercial meant no gun, and no gun left Casey feeling more naked than any lack of clothing ever could. It was a NATO-issued Beretta M9 and he immediately tucked it in the waistband of his pants. The knot between his shoulders that he had hours earlier ignored disappeared at the feeling of the familiarity in his belt.

_ Now_ he was ready to go to work.

**XXXX**

When Casey saw her, it was like a punch to the gut.

And now he was starting to understand why Beckman gave him this assignment.

Her hair was brown and her eyes were brown, but he'd know that face anywhere.

After all, you never forgot your best partner.

Casey had managed an hour of shut-eye before he was due to meet his local contact. They were meeting off Embassy grounds, which the agent surmised meant they wanted to avoid any prying eyes, or potentially any moles within. On the way over, he expected to be dealing with some State Department lackey who was probably pissing his pants at the prospect of being part of some honest-to-God espionage. But he was wrong. This wasn't some simple consulate official he was meeting, it was a ghost.

She wasn't able to contain her shocked expression as well as Casey was his, he noted, her eyes blinking at a furious rate. Then he saw a brief glimpse of hope enter his visage and those unnaturally brown eyes began searching over his shoulder for something.

He shook his head 'no' at her, softening his expression, and her eyes widened before a mask of blank emotion slammed over her face. Casey wanted to explain but they were not alone. There was a man there waiting.

"Agent Thomas Williams, CIA," the mystery man said, stepping forward with one hand extended and his badge in the other. He was young, Casey noted. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, handsome in a suit that fit him perfectly. Another CIA pretty boy. He hated him already.

"Major John Casey, NSA," he parroted, flashing his own credentials and taking the younger man's hand. His hands were soft. It was disgusting.

Casey turned to the brunette woman and extended the same introduction to her. She snapped out of her melancholy, remembering herself. "Agent Susan Watkins," she said crisply. "CIA." Her voice sounded different than he remembered, a little more flat and nasal. For a moment he wondered if he had forgotten it, but that wasn't true. She had a new voice to go with a new appearance. Casey understood. She was a spy, and spies were whoever they needed to be when the situation called.

Still, it was very surreal.

Her grip was stronger than the one he'd felt on his hand previously and she maintained an air of polite professionalism. Casey cocked an eyebrow at her, silently conveying the message of _Later_ to her. He knew she understood when she squeezed his fingers with her palm before releasing their grasp.

"If you'll join me over here, Major Casey," the young agent said, "I can run you through the plan for this evening and you can see why we requested a third for this op." Agent Williams motioned to a table on which blueprints and pictures and memorandums were strategically placed and invited the NSA agent to follow. Casey spared one last look at his former-partner-turned-partner-again before turning his focus on the task at hand. It was time to get to work.

**XXXX**

Casey sat on the bed in his hotel room, facing the door. It was late, and he was waiting.

The tuxedo was back hanging in the closet and the gun and other mission gear in the room's safe. His own bag was packed and seated next to him, along with the briefcase he'd obtained earlier.

The mission had been a success, with only a few hitches. The CIA idiot Williams managed to bungle the handoff, leading to some gunplay with what turned to be a mole on the Embassy staff and his hired muscle. And that had been a lot of fun.

Crouched behind some puny little Peugeot with his old/new partner, trading shots in the dark, it felt like the old days. It felt _good_. The adrenaline, the sense of accomplishment, the patriotism... It was sweeter with her there. She looked more alive in that moment than at another other point since their reunion earlier that day. It also served to remind him of who wasn't there. Realizing that made John Casey really feel the loss of Team Bartowski. Everything they did, what they could have done. Losing that was like losing an arm. You didn't know how good things were until you didn't have it.

He didn't wait around after the hostiles had been neutralized to help clean up the mess. The briefcase was his mission and it was complete. Before he left the two CIA operatives, he took his old partner aside.

"Do you know where I'm staying?"

She nodded yes.

"Good. Meet me there when you're done."

It was nearly two hours later when he finally heard the knock at the door. He glanced through the peephole first to confirm before opening.

She looked tired. So tired. Her face was scrubbed clean of any makeup and he could see age that he didn't remember from their time in California. Her eyes were back to their original blue, but she hadn't changed her hair.

"You're later than I expected," he grunted.

She rolled her eyes. "My partner wanted to celebrate a job well done." She put emphasis on the word 'celebrate'. "He took it hard when I said no." Her eyes danced with amusement when she added, "I think he thinks I'm here 'celebrating' with you."

Casey chuckled and shook his head. Let the arrogant CIA idiot think that. He returned to the bed to grab his things. "C'mon. I've got somewhere in mind where we can speak." He left unsaid his distrust of whomever set up the room ahead of time. It was likely bugged, and what he had to say was best left unheard by anyone but the two of them.

No more words passed between the two spies after leaving Casey's room. He led them down a couple blocks to a pub he'd passed earlier in the day after he arrived in Bern. It was a traditional English-style pub named Borthwick's, the wooden facade a deep brown, a stark contrast to the concrete that seemingly made up the rest of the city.

That changed before they had a chance to step inside. Casey had a hand on the door before realizing his companion had stopped several feet behind him. He looked back at her with a quizzical expression which she missed, her gaze planted firmly at the ground.

"What are we doing here?" she questioned wearily.

"In the briefing, when they said there'd be a local contact... I had no idea it would be you."

"Would you have taken the mission, had you known?" Her eyes still wouldn't meet his.

"It doesn't matter. It's the job, and besides," he said with a feral grin. "I have intel for you."

She met his eyes at last, blue flashing against blue. Nodding twice in rapid succession, she followed him inside.

The décor was as Casey expected – more mahogany than you could...well, shake a stick at. Earthy tones, low lightning, soccer club banners festooned about. They slid into a booth in the back, away from the other patrons. Casey let her take the side facing the door. He preferred that seat as well, so as to better assess any potential threat, but he could see she was on edge. It wasn't his hill to die on.

A waitress appeared seconds later, greeting them in a language Casey could barely understand.

"English?" he asked.

"Yes," the waitress replied, in an accent the gruff man found particularly appealing.

"Got any Johnnie Walker?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "We serve all five labels here."

Casey reached into his coat and pulled out a money clip, and peeled off three crisp $100 bills. He handed them to the waitress and said, "The black. Two glasses. Leave the bottle. This should cover it."

The waitress nodded, returning with the drinks in short order.

Casey poured generous helpings into both glasses, and slid one across the table to his companion. As soon as it was within reach, she snatched up her drink and knocked it back in one smooth motion.

She hissed as the whiskey burned a path down her abdomen. Not bothering to wait for Casey, she reached across the table for the bottle and refilled her glass. She sneered defiantly at the smug look on his face, downing the drink in two quick gulps.

Casey sipped his beloved Johnnie slowly, waiting her out. Every move from the moment she came to his door to now was calculated and deliberate. He had to do this right, or else she'd rabbit.

Her next refill was much more conservative, pouring barely enough to coat the bottom of the glass. She brought it up to her nose and swirled the liquid around, breathing in the aroma. The gesture was basic spycraft, completely meaningless and meant to buy the agent a precious few seconds if the situation demanded it.

She _was_ stalling, truth be told. What he said, what he didn't say, what he wasn't saying... It activated a muscle she'd tried to suppress for a while now - her heart. She searched Casey's eyes for any hint but only cold blue was reflected back.

Draining the meager contents of her glass, she laid back against the bench seat and folded her arms under her breasts. She was sure she'd need something holding her up for what she was about to hear.

"Is he dead?"

"No."

To Susan, the woman who was known by many names but had only one that mattered, Sarah Walker, the world stopped. She pressed both of her hands over her heart, hoping the pressure would keep it from bursting out of her chest.

"Say it again."

"No," Casey repeated emphatically.

Something long dormant inside the CIA Agent stirred, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

_ What does that mean? If Chuck's alive, why is Casey here without him? _A cold spike of fear punctured her abdomen. "Is he..." _In a hole? Locked away from his sister? His friends? The sun? _If she didn't say the words out loud, it couldn't be true, right?

"No."

Never had the word sounded sweeter to Sarah. It also seemed too good to be true.

"So help me John Casey," she growled, "if this is your idea of a game and Chuck is hiding in the bathroom or something and waiting to for you to signal him..."

Casey let out an amused grunt and shook his head. "No."

Sarah slumped back against her seat again, anxiously running a hand through her hair. Her mind was buzzing like a hornet's nest full of questions and possibilities. _What the hell is going on right now?_

"He's got a message for you, Walker. Would you like to hear it?" Casey suddenly not monosyllabic anymore snapped Sarah back into reality.

"A message? Does he know I'm here? Did you tell him we were working together on a mission again?"

Casey held up a hand to stop her. "Enough with the Twenty Questions. Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Of course!" Sarah shouted, now completely frantic.

Casey's head turned back and forth, his motions slow and deliberate, as if scanning the room. In truth he was - the spy side never truly turned off, no matter the situation. But it was also to draw out the moment that much more. He had Walker coiled up tighter than a spring. This was just too much fun.

"Bartowski..." he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in _just_ a hair, "He wanted me to tell you..." Sarah nodded unconsciously, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Her heart was pounding so loud, she wondered how it was that Casey didn't hear it from across the booth.

"Hey."

Casey let out an amused grunt at the shocked look on her face and sat back up straight, bringing the bottle of Johnnie back to his side of the table. He had refilled his glass and taken a drink before she finally blinked, he noticed with internal delight.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you Casey!?" she shouted.

This time he really was worried they were drawing too much attention. People were looking. "Cool it Walker," he hissed. "Low profile, remember?"

A growl rose, low and feral, from her gut. Sarah snatched the Johnnie Walker back and took a long swig, straight from the bottle. She set it down not-so-gently and slid it angrily back at Casey. Finger pointed like a weapon she spat, "What the hell kind of game are you playing here? You think you can come waltzing in and screw with me?"

_ Shit_, Casey thought as she dropped a hand out of sight under the table. He was losing control of the situation rapidly. He held up both hands, palms facing Sarah, in an effort to placate her.

"Stand down, Walker!" he whispered, urgency thick in his voice. "OK fine, so I'm having fun at your expense." He blanched at her expression, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring.

"But I'm being totally on the level here. What I said is exactly what Bartowski told me to say."

Forehead scrunched, Sarah stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What the hell are you talking about, Casey?"

"Bartowski... I'm here and he's not because he's out, Walker. He's not my asset anymore. Beckman cut him loose."

Shock was replacing the anger that had been flowing through Sarah Walker's body since Casey's ill-timed quip, with a faint undercurrent of something her heart recognized as hope nestled just below. "What-" she swallowed thickly. "What does that mean? He found a way to get the Intersect out of his head?"

"He's out, Walker," he repeated, avoiding her question. "Retired. He's still got a handler, but it's mostly to make sure the geek stays out of trouble. You know how he's a magnet for that sort of thing."

A tiny smile formed on Sarah's lips as memories from a better time pulsed through her mind. Casey was relieved to see her hand reemerge from under the table empty.

"Wait," she said, snapping out of her reverie. "New handler? Who?"

"Fellow by the name of Conti. Don't know him. Beckman trusts him, though. They go way back, the two of them. The kid likes him, too."

"You've been in contact with Chuck?!"

"Haven't you been listening to me, Walker?" He emptied his glass and poured himself more. "He's been out for two years, and I pop in once in a while to see how he's doing."

Two years. __Shit___,_ Sarah thought. _Has it really been that long?_

"You visit him? When did you two become such pals? And since when are you allowed to freely visit heavily-classified assets?"

"He's a civilian again," Casey said as if explaining to a child. "And what I do with my down time is my business. And to your other point, so what? He's a good kid. He trusts me. Someone had to keep him together after...you know."

Oh, Sarah knew. She knew too well. She appreciated her former partner's attempt to not rub it in her face.

"For what it's worth," Casey continued, voice now gentle. "The kid is still stuck on you." _That got her_, he thought.

Sarah's body instantly relaxed. Her demeanor calmed, her eyes no longer quivering in anger. She took a deep breath and ran an anxious hand through her hair again.

"Every time, before I leave, Bartowski asks me that if I should ever bump into you out here in this wide, wicked world that I give you a message for him."

Sarah stared at the NSA man, overwhelmed with feelings she'd worked hard to keep a lid on.

"And now I've done it. A promise is a promise and I honored it."

With a shaky hand, Sarah reached out for the whisky and poured herself a generous helping. It was as if the nerves she felt when they got to the pub were the appetizer, and this was the main event.

Because everything had changed.

She'd been playing by their rules, forced to, for so long, longer even than the game itself. And now here was Casey, telling her Chuck was out. Chuck was free. He and Chuck were friends, and Chuck...

__He still cares___._

Sarah almost couldn't think the words, for fear this was all some weird dream and she'd wake up to find it never happened. Not since 'That Day' had she felt so many emotions, and never in her life so many contradicting ones. Joy and fear and elation and confusion and happiness and anxiety flowed from the tips of her toes and bloomed up through her legs into the rest of her body and she wanted to cry and shout and she thought she might explode like a geyser.

Sarah took a drink, letting the liquid constitution do its work and calm her. This was just... It was a lot to deal with.

Casey let her process the bombshell he'd dropped on her. In the old days, he'd relished at the prospect of needling Walker and her lady feelings. It was petty and it was immature but she was compromising herself more and more with each day and he had to check that before it destroyed them.

And then it destroyed them, he thought again ruefully.

"What aren't you telling me, Casey?" she said quietly, breaking him out of his own clouded thoughts.

"Plenty," he grunted. "It's not my place to tell you everything. I wouldn't want to give you an excuse."

"Excuse?"

"Yeah," he rasped, swallowing a gulp of the honey colored liquor. "I could sit here and give you the full sitrep and then maybe you decide that's enough for you. Maybe you decide to let the past be the past?" He cocked an eyebrow in surprise when she didn't immediately defend herself.

"Nah. I did what Bartowski asked me to do. Now I can wash my hands of it."

"Are you going to tell him you saw me?" she queried.

Casey paused. "Honestly? I don't know." He weighed her with his eyes before continuing. "If I tell him and you don't show, it'll destroy him. The kid is stronger than we ever gave him credit for, but it _would_ destroy him."

He could see her withdraw into herself, deep in thought. _Let her chew on that,_ he thought.

The geek had changed them both, had taken two spies and shown them they could be more. It was enough for Casey to simply know that, to know that he was still capable of caring. He eyed Sarah, wondering if she knew herself how deeply she'd been affected. Judging by her expression, she was thinking the same.

Casey checked his watch; he still had a couple hours before he was wheels up, but the time was right. A warm buzz was starting to spread to his extremities and the idea of getting a seat upgrade, damned the cost, before flying home and debriefing was beginning to sound more and more appealing.

"My job's done," he announced. "Got a ride to catch," he explained, sliding out of the booth. Casey clutched his bag and the briefcase in one hand and gestured to the bottle with his other. "Enjoy the rest of that." He took a breath before adding, "It was good to see you again. Take care of yourself, partner." He tipped his head in acknowledgment and started for the door.

"Casey..." Sarah called out hesitantly. He stopped, but didn't look back. "What do you think I should do?" Now he was glad he didn't; that was the most vulnerable Casey ever heard her sound. He didn't want to know if her face matched the emotion of her words.

He chanced a quick glance back at her, more to reassure her he had heard her plea than anything. "I can't answer that, Walker. But you know how often people like us get second chances." Casey looked back one last time, locking eyes with her to emphasize his point. "Ball's in your court now," he said, before disappearing into the cold Swiss night.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>: my greatest gratitude to **Zerectica** for once again being my troubleshooter and also for simply being good people.

Thank you all for reading, and extra thanks for those of you who take the time to review.

I hope you enjoyed the first real appearance of Sarah in this story. I still haven't revealed the whole story, but I hope this'll do for now.


	4. Republican Heaven

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or any other name brand that may be listed below.

* * *

><p><em>A long time ago, in a spy base far, far away...<em>

Even through a monitor, she was imposing. Chuck Bartowski couldn't imagine experiencing the full force of that weighty glare in person. General Beckman was addressing her team, her new team.

Casey and Forrest stood at attention in front of the viewscreen, directly behind the table in front of it. Chuck was off to the side, as far as he could be while still in the view of the camera. He was not standing at attention, nor was he paying much attention.

Chuck wasn't paying attention because he was angry, in a way he rarely ever was. He did not want to be here. Already, he missed her.

"I'm sorry Mr. Bartowski, are we boring you?"

"I was just thinking, General..." Chuck replied, coming out of his cloudy headspace.

"That's a new development," Forrest interjected venomously.

"Why don't you enlighten us," the tiny woman said with equal sarcasm. "Defending the nation can wait."

She clearly didn't want Chuck to speak again but he couldn't pass up this opening.

"Sesame Street. I was thinking about Sesame Street, General."

Mortified, Casey buried his face into his hand. Agent Forrest and Beckman settled for glaring. How Chuck wasn't on fire from the intensity of their gazes, he had no idea.

"They have a song that they play for children." He was going to pay for this, without a doubt. Chuck found himself not caring. "Maybe you've heard of it? It goes, 'One of these things is not like the other.'"

"Shut up, idiot!" Casey hissed. Beckman was shaking in silent fury.

"I know what you're all thinking," Chuck said, fully selling it. "What does the Intersect mean? What is he saying to us? Why, I'd love to tell you!" He stepped forward and began gesturing from himself, to the General on screen, and the two people in the room with him.

"Of the faces I see, one of these is not like the other. One of these doesn't belong."

Forrest's face contorted into a snarl and she started for Chuck. Casey reached over and grabbed her by the forearm, restraining her. The idiot was crossing some major lines, he fumed.

"If you're quite finished, Mr. Bartowski..." Oh yes, he was in it now.

"I know, General. I'm being a jerk." Chuck took a deep breath and turned to Casey and Forrest, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm upset and I needed to get that off my chest."

"Does that mean we can get back to the briefing, Bartowski?" Forrest spat.

"Ah...yeah... Just one more thing..." Chuck trailed off. At the three enraged faces he quickly added, "This one is serious!"

General Beckman sighed wearily. "What is it, Mr. Bartowski?"

"It's about us, the team," he said, waving his hands around. "The cover. No one, and I mean NO ONE, is going to buy that I so easily got over Sarah and found myself another blonde supermodel to go out with me."

The General quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

Taking this as a good sign, Chuck pressed on. He'd had a lot of time to plan this, think about his new life. His post-Sarah spy life.

"So unless you plan on bringing Sarah back..." He paused and was met only with stone faces. "Right. Worth a try. Okay, so I have a proposal for going forward."

He pointed at Forrest. "Now, I understand the need for the female member of the team. And nothing personal, but she's got the subtlety of a rock."

She growled, and he spun to face her. "Easy there, tiger. You're a soldier, right Alex?"

"That's 'Agent' to you, asset." _Ooookay. No first names. Gotcha._

"My point exactly. Casey can barely keep it together around civilians," to which the larger man also growled.

"C'mon, big guy. You know I'm right."

"What's your point in all this, Bartowski?" Chuck could see the General was getting increasingly annoyed when she dropped her usually condescending "Mister" in front of his name.

"The point is, General, is why not put Agents Casey and Forrest together in the cover relationship?"

That certainly got the attention of the two veteran spies.

"Look at it this way - Casey's apartment has space, so there's one less expense for you guys to cover. It puts her closer to me," s_omething I'd like to avoid_, he added silently, "So surveillance is easier."

From the softening expressions all around, Chuck could see they were giving his idea serious thought.

"And like I said before, no one would expect me to rebound so quickly. Besides, Casey and Forrest have the same sunny disposition. It's a match made in Republican heaven," he added with a cheeky grin.

It earned Chuck more dirty looks but he ignored them and focused back on General Beckman. "Well, what do you think?"

"Your ideas have merit, Mr. Bartowski. I'll take them under advisement. Do you have any further outbursts prepared?" The asset shook his head no. "Very well, picking up where we left off earlier…"

Chuck ignored the dig, because he had won a victory. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Those were in short supply, now with Sarah gone.

Gone.

Guilt contracted around his heart. His stupid, fool heart. If only he hadn't pressed her so much... She had told him, time and again, why they couldn't be together. And he didn't listen and she had been right.

They took her away.

The rest of the briefing passed in a haze for Chuck Bartowski. There was some vague talk of a mission. He didn't listen. Besides, both of his handlers would assuredly remind him of it later, and speak to him like a child.

It was like being stuck with a grumpy mom and dad.

_Ugh. Don't call them that._ They'd kill him if they heard him refer to them as _that_.

Not that they didn't want to kill him already. Sheesh. He couldn't deny the attractiveness of Agent Forrest, if you were into that kind of severe cold badass type.

Not that Sarah wasn't badass, or that she couldn't be cold, but there was a softness to her, that Chuck could read in her eyes and came out in her personality. He felt safe with her, and cared for. She was the only person in his spy life who treated him like an actual human being.

_Crap,_ he thought despondently. If only he'd listened to her. But no, he just had to press her. Just had to keep pushing for the idea of making it real.

_If only I could take it back, _Chuck thought. The cover wasn't that terrible, was it? No. He was just selfish, and needy.

Having Sarah here, even if just out of reach, was better than not having her there at all.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>: As always, thanks to **Zerectica** for making this better than I can do on my own.

This is a shorty, for sure. When I envisioned writing this as 'snapshots', it was like this - being able to write and post small snippets like this that fit into the overall world and story I'm making here.

I hope you enjoy it.


	5. Republican Heaven Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own _Chuck_ or any name brands listed. Also, upped the rating to T for casual use of swears.

* * *

><p>Chuck found himself being roughly shoved against the freezer door of the Orange Orange that led down to Castle.<p>

"What the HELL was that, Bartowski?" Casey barked, his face inches from Chuck's. Apparently he hadn't been as receptive to Chuck's new cover plans as General Beckman had.

"You want to maybe clue me in the next time you decide to go off half-cocked in front of the General, trying to change the way things are done around here?"

It was the comment about 'change' that set Chuck off. It seemed that today was the day to be assertive.

"Me change things? Why don't you look in the mirror, jackass?" Chuck shouted as he pushed Casey away from him. "You think I don't know it was you who sparked this 49B crap?"

"Watch your tone Bartowski," Casey warned, shoving a finger into Chuck's chest.

"I thought you'd love this Casey. Now that you got Sarah reassigned, they got you a partner more your speed - one with an equally itchy trigger finger and an even poorer disposition!"

"What are you talking about, moron?"

"What am I talking about?" Chuck exclaimed. "What am I talking about?!" His tone shifted from angry to incredulous. Taking two big handfuls of his hair, he tugged at them in an effort to temper his raging emotions. "You've been needling Sarah and me about our feelings since day one. Well you got your wish, big guy. About the only thing that made this Intersect business worthwhile is gone and now you've got a new partner who's as emotionally repressed as you!"

Casey's fists clenched, and he snarled like a bull about to charge. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Chuck's shirt, pushing him back against the door and leaned in close.

"Listen to me closely because I'm only going to say this once." His words came out slowly, deliberately, and with so much barely-contained fury under them. "Walker knew the rules and she let herself be compromised anyway. I did what I was ordered to do." When Chuck stared back at him questioningly, Casey jabbed his finger into the Nerd Herder's forehead in annoyance. "I don't know why I'm even bothering saying this..." He took a deep, measured breath before continuing.

"After the clusterfuck with Orion and Fulcrum, General Beckman informed me of the 49B, asking me to send her all the surveillance footage I had of you two. It was dirty, but I had my orders. Even still, I went to bat for Walker with the General. Why bother with what you two idiots did in your down time as long as we being successful?" He let go of Chuck and took a step back. "Walker was the best partner I've ever had, but she plays the game, same as me, same as you now. _You_ may be an idiot and not know the rules, but she does, and she broke them," he explained. "So don't stand here and take it out on me when you're the one who couldn't keep it in your pants."

"'Keep it in my pants?'" Chuck repeated before slumping his shoulders in defeat. "I..." He let the thought die on his lips. Casey didn't need to know they'd only ever kissed once without other people around, much less even approached the possibility of sex happening. "I just wish there was something I could do. Some way to take it all back. Maybe if I talk to Beckman, I can get her to change her mind." Chuck couldn't hide the hurt and desperation in his tone.

Casey shook his head slowly. _Poor bastard, _he thought. Aloud he said, "It's too late Bartowski. This is how things are now. And..." He looked directly into Chuck's eyes. "Agent Forrest? She's a hard woman. Almost as hard as I am, and that's saying something. She's not going to hold your hand like Walker did, or even like I do." He could see in the geek's eyes his point was coming across clearly. "Don't give her a reason."

He put more distance between himself and his asset. "C'mon kid. We've got to get back before that idiot Milbarge starts on our asses again." He didn't wait for a reply before leaving the back room of the Orange Orange and returning to the Buy More.

Chuck let his head flop against the metal door and breathed deeply. He felt exhausted as the adrenaline overload of the last hour drained from his body. He was still angry, so angry. He almost wanted to keep being angry, because that kept the tidal wave of sadness and guilt he knew was waiting from sweeping over him.

_Just... Five minutes. She needs to know how sorry I am, that I_...

He swore loudly and smacked the freezer door with the palm of his hand.

This was all his fault. His fault Sarah was gone and probably hated him for it, hated him for jeopardizing her career with his pushing. His constant pushing.

He had been hooked from day one. Hooked on that beautiful and alluring and frustrating enigma that was Sarah Walker. Even if their relationship was mostly a cover, he couldn't help how he felt. No amount of breakups of their 'thing' helped, whether it was to see other people, or because Bryce said he was endangering her, or because he'd been a fool and listened to Ellie.

Ellie.

_Crap. How am I going to explain this?_

Just another layer on top of the pile he had to figure his way around now. When had the pile gotten so big? It seemed so much more manageable with Sarah around. Hell, everything did.

It hadn't even been a week, and he was miserable.

People always said it was darkest before the dawn, but from Chuck Bartowski's perspective, the sun was a long way from coming up.

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: You know the drill. **Zerectica** is the best for helping my hand.

After I wrote the piece yesterday, I was dead set on posting it then. After I did, it felt incomplete to me and so then this chapter came to be. It should fill in the remaining holes in the backstory for Sarah's departure. We're canon up to the 49B episode, where the mission in the hospital succeeds as planned, so Sarah never has to come back to save Chuck in the vault and thus get herself reinstated to the team.

Hope yous guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.


	6. The Longest Day

Disclaimer: I do not own _Chuck_ or any name brands listed below.

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><p>General Diane Beckman slammed her phone back into its rest and rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. On a scale of one to ten, her disposition was currently somewhere around twenty two. The Human Intersect, the most important piece of intelligence in the free world, had been taken.<p>

And recovered.

And was now in recovery.

Alive, but damaged. Damaged irreparably.

She pushed a button on her intercom.

"Yes General?" the voice of her adjutant sprang forth.

"Colonel, get on the horn with Andrews. I need transport to Los Angeles ASAP. We're in the air in an hour."

"Yes ma'am!" her subordinate replied crisply.

The General sighed. This was going to be a long day.

**XXXX**

Four hours and three time zones later, by now the dead of night, a black SUV pulled into a parking space in front of the Orange Orange. Downstairs, inside the secret spy base known as Castle, Agent Alexandra Forrest paced with an atypical nervousness.

Operation Bartowski was an assignment she never expected to receive, and after joining it, one she enjoyed even less. But now, here, with everything falling apart all around her, Forrest found herself waxing nostalgic for what were officially now better times.

The main entry door hissed and the agent froze, snapping to attention. Beckman wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Report!" she barked.

"At 1325 yesterday, the asset departed on a service call for the Buy More. According to the pre-existing protocol, he made the first required check-in at 1340 to confirm arrival at the location, then again at 1410 for the first of the mandatory thirty minute check-ins." Forrest remained at attention, eyes fixed to the wall in front of her. From her peripherals, she could only catch glimpses of her commanding officer stomping down the metal staircase and into the facility.

"When the asset failed to report in," she continued, "for his second thirty minute check-in, Major Casey tracked Mr. Bartowski's location via the GPS transponder in his watch and vehicle and confirmed he was the location of the service call. While en route, the Major contacted me and asked I rendezvous with him at Mr. Bartowski's location. At 1451, Major Casey received a text message from the asset's phone containing only one word: 'help.' Major Casey immediately informed me and asked for my ETA. I was still ten minutes out and the Major informed me he was entering the premises."

General Beckman, nostrils flaring with barely contained fury, was now standing five feet directly in front of Forrest, flanked by her adjutant and a pair of guards. Forrest briefly locked eyes with the diminutive soldier before her gaze settled on the large field of ribbons and commendations on Beckman's uniform. It was no less intimidating.

"I arrived at the asset and Major Casey's location at exactly 1500 hours. Both of their vehicles were on-site and unattended. The front door to the house the Major apprised me of had been forced open and as I made my way towards it, I heard several gunshots inside the house. Approaching cautiously, I could see a body down just inside the doorway."

An itch suddenly appeared between her shoulders that she desperately wanted to reach. The thought did occur to her that its source was from the withering look she was receiving from the General.

"At the time I didn't know but the deceased was a Fulcrum agent. Searching carefully through the house, I encountered a second body in the hallway - again, it was neither Casey nor the asset but another Fulcrum agent. When I reached a doorway that led down to a cellar, I could hear the Major's voice. Descending, I discovered Major Casey rendering aid to Mr. Bartowski." Beckman couldn't hide her grimace at this detail. "Also in the room was the body of a third Fulcrum agent, this one I recognized. It was Vincent - I'd worked with him many years ago, and Casey briefed me of the team's recent run-in with him just prior to my assignment here. He was shocked, as he had been presumed killed in action."

Beckman's face contorted into a full snarl. "It was too much to hope he was dead," she said, breaking her silence. "Instead we assumed, and now here we are. Continue."

"Ma'am," Forrest replied. "After confirming there were no other Fulcrum agents on station, I called in medical and cleaner teams. Major Casey remained from the moment I arrived and is still with him now, while I oversaw the cleaning up of the scene. I coordinated with local law enforcement and the neighbors believe it was the FBI raiding a meth lab. The details of the cleaner operation are in the full report I submitted."

She finally allowed herself a brief working of her shoulders, soothing the itch.

"Major Casey has surprisingly given me little information regarding the asset's status. He's informed me that he's worked out the cover story with the asset's family, and his remaining on station at the hospital is to help reinforce it. My last contact with him was at 0130 hours, ma'am."

"At ease, Agent," the General said, letting her annoyance fade for a moment. Forrest gratefully relaxed her stance, slackening her legs and clasping her hands behind her back.

"I want you to relieve Major Casey in two hours and keep up observation and security on Mr. Bartowski. We've got a long couple of days ahead of us, and they will be very taxing. Get some rest while you can, Forrest. Dismissed."

Forrest snapped back to attention, saluting the General. Beckman returned it and then stalked away.

**XXXX**

John Casey stood nervously at the head of the conference table in Castle, with General Beckman seated at the opposite end. Small in size, she never failed to project a mighty visage.

He was nervous because he had to face down his boss and tell her how he failed. Failed his mission, his duty, his charge, his country. It wasn't the first time Casey had an unsuccessful mission, but never before had his failure cost so much.

"Have a seat, John."

She rarely used his first name. It was another indicator of his failure. She was trying to soften the blow.

"How is he?" she asked after the agent had taken his seat.

"Stable, ma'am."

"And how are you?"

"Stable, ma'am."

Beckman chuckled and sighed all at once, and leaned back in her seat. She pulled off her glasses and fruitlessly massaged her temples.

"It occurred to me only just now Major," she said, "how lucky we've been with this mission."

"Ma'am?" Casey inquired.

"Using an untrained civilian in these circumstances, even if he's far from any warzone. The fact that your team was able to do so much with so little..." She sighed again. "I've had a lot of sleepless nights since the night that idiot Larkin stole the Intersect. Bartowski has taken more years from me than two Iraq wars have. I'm surprised he hasn't given me an aneurysm yet."

She took a drink from a glass on the table. At Casey's quirked eyebrow she said ruefully, "It's just water, Major. I'm afraid I left the good stuff in D.C. This trip was rather short-notice, if you'll recall."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Now where was I? Oh right. Luck. Against all odds, Major, you and your team were able to produce results beyond our admittedly low expectations. Neither Graham nor I ever had any great faith in Mr. Bartowski's abilities in the beginning. His stopping that bomb and saving those people could have been a fluke. Beginner's luck, as it were." She tilted her head and glanced off thoughtfully.

"And yet, his luck persisted. Bumps along the road, certainly, but it persisted. Even with the revelation of traitors within our very ranks, or the death of Graham and the loss of Orion. But this mission was built on a foundation made of playing cards, and a strong enough breeze has finally come and blown it all down."

Beckman sat back up straight in her chair and the sheen of authority instantly coated her. "As of now, Operation Bartowski is concluded." Casey's eyes widened in surprise. "You and Forrest will stay in place for the time being, with the same security protocols in place. Pending a medical review, we'll see where we go forward. If the damage is not too great and the Intersect is in good working order, I will see that Mr. Bartowski is placed into a secure facility. We cannot allow something like this to happen to the most valuable intelligence resource in the country again."

A pit began to form in Casey's stomach. Over the last two years, John Casey had pictured the myriad of ways this mission would end. They were always violent ends; petty in the beginning, usually visions of wringing Bartowski's neck until he could never annoy him with his inane babbling and incompetence again, or from the damn fool's refusal to stay in the car.

But his emotions had tempered with time and the team's successful track record. He'd learned to tolerate Bartowski, even respect the kid. With no training, he was not only surviving in a brutal world, but he was thriving. It made Casey feel bulletproof. The only way harm would ever come to his asset, he'd come to assure himself, was from his own hands, in service to the greater good. It was a disgusting possibility, yes, discarding someone so useful so callously, but he couldn't trust anyone else to do it right in his place.

Never though, did he think it would end like this.

"However, should the damage be too great, I will concede to release Mr. Bartowski from his service and he may return to his civilian life. Either way, you and Agent Forrest will be moving on to new assignments." Her expression softened. "I know this is sudden, John, and difficult to hear given your last twenty four hours. But I want you to be aware of the changes coming."

Casey's jaw tightened. "Understood, ma'am," he choked.

She looked at him, the stoic killer, eyes thick with emotion he couldn't hide. It was obvious her news had affected him, but for what reason? Over the mission ending the way it had, or had Bartowski compromised him the way he had Walker?

"Go get some rest, Major. I want you to relieve Forrest at 0900. You're dismissed."

Beckman stood; returning Casey's salute and waited until she heard him exit Castle. At the hiss of the door, she sagged, leaning on the conference table for support, wishing she truly had brought a drink with her from her office.

It had been a long day.

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: First thanks to **Zerectica** for giving this a once-over and giving it a publishable polish.

And thank you to everyone who has reviewed or dropped me a little line of encouragement. I appreciate it more than you know. Now with this chapter, we're peeling back a few more layers as to what happened to Chuck, and who and how. For you who love Sarah (which is us all, really), I've got a couple chapters centered on her in the works.

Enjoy!


	7. Private Eyes

Disclaimer: I don't own _Chuck_ or any name brand listed below. 

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><p>And just like that, there he was.<p>

It had been two long, agonizing, terrible years, but there he was. Seated on an ornate bench outside a café, arms spread across the top and head dangling backwards, a pair of beaten Aviators on his face. His foot tapped on the sidewalk to a rhythm only he could hear.

The woman known by those she held dearest in her heart as Sarah Walker sat in the driver's seat of a rented sedan. She was doing what she did best - spying.

Sunglasses also shielded her eyes, and a wig of wavy black hair hid her blonde locks. Parked two hundred feet away and beneath the shade of trees, she waited and observed.

He looked different, but still so very much the same. Still the same beanpole, with those long, long legs. That messy head of hair with its funny animal shapes was no more though, replaced with a tidier look, but still thick and full. She approved. Her fingers twitched, wrapping themselves around the steering wheel. How she longed to run them through that hair.

That wasn't the only change, as the lanky nerd of her memories had visibly toned in their time apart, a layer of lean muscle covering his bones. Not so much a beanpole anymore, she conceded. Knuckles turning white, her grip on the steering wheel intensified. His hair was no longer the only part of him she ached to touch now.

Sarah Walker wasn't afraid to admit it - everything she had seen and done in her life paled to how beautiful Chuck Bartowski looked to her right now.

_You should go talk to him_, she chided herself. _You waited so long for this...why do you insist on waiting longer?_

Then a third voice in the back of her mind spoke up, the voice she worked hard to bury under everything else. She was afraid. Afraid he'd reject her because he moved on to someone else. Afraid he'd reject her because she left without saying goodbye. Afraid he'd placed her in the same group as all the others who had hurt him; his mother, his father, Bryce, and Jill.

Was he angry she never called? Never wrote a letter? Morse code? Carrier pigeon? Smoke signal? What did he tell Ellie about why she'd left? Oh God.

What if her replacement wasn't broken the way she was. What if she was prettier and not messed up, and capable of communicating and caring and they were able to figure out how to make it work despite the system not allowing it?

Sarah groaned and thumped her forehead against the steering wheel.

_Go, you idiot. Did you forget what Casey said? He hasn't forgotten you._

Emboldened, she had a hand on the door handle before stopping herself. The door to the café swung open and Captain Awesome himself stepped out, hands occupied with drinks. He said something to Chuck, judging from the latter's perking up and turning to face him. Chuck smiled that big, dazzling smile of his, the one that made Sarah tingle all the way down to her toes, and accepted a cup from his...brother-in-law? Surely they'd had the wedding by now. Oh God, and Ellie had asked to be a bridesmaid. As if she needed a further reason to hate her.

Devon took a seat next to Chuck and they sat, chatting and sipping. It was a picturesque moment, one that made Sarah flash back to being a part of that life with them. Family meals and beach days, nights curled up with Chuck watching a movie. Even if it was built on a foundation of deceit, it was great having a family.

Warm memories were the only bulwark she had protecting her heart during the empty, draining times since she'd left. Especially in the time before her reunion with Casey in Switzerland, when hope was the only thing she had to cling to that Chuck was okay.

Sarah let herself relax back into the seat, smiling, her hands dropping from the steering wheel. Without realizing it, her left hand began to idly toy with the silver bracelet around her right wrist. For the first time in a long time she found herself feeling contented, watching Chuck, even if from afar.

Time passed in a euphoric haze for Sarah when suddenly Devon stood up. He took the cup from Chuck's hand and walked towards a trash can a few feet away. Alone again for the moment, Chuck tugged up the right leg of his jeans, and to Sarah's absolute bafflement, pulled out a baton he had tucked into his sock.

Devon walked back over to Chuck and stood in front of him, speaking but with his back to Sarah, she hadn't a hope of ascertaining his words. Chuck reached out a hand and Awesome clasped it, pulling his (probably) brother-in-law upright. They turned and began walking down the sidewalk in Sarah's direction and that's when she saw it.

The strange baton had expanded and was now a long, thin white cane, looped around Chuck's wrist. It danced about erratically over the concrete as he and Devon moved along side-by-side at a decent clip.

The pieces, terrifying and gigantic, suddenly snapped into place for Sarah. The sunglasses. The cane. His 'retirement.'

He was blind.

The contingency plan Sarah had concocted for avoiding detection from them went out the window. She slumped forward into the steering wheel again, burying her face in her hands. She did the only thing she could do.

She cried.

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: Always I start by thanking **Zerectica** for another stellar job of making sure this isn't too much of a disaster. **Z**, you da best.

A short chapter, this one, but one I'm very happy with. I hope you enjoy it as well. Thanks to all who read and review!


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